


For Love

by M04



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: 1970, 1970s, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bellatrix's daughter, Canon Universe, Delphini - Freeform, F/M, Fire Magic, Forest Magic, Magic, Missing Scene, Mysticism, New Spells, POV Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rituals, Spell work, Unhealthy Relationships, Wood Magic, Young Bellatrix, detailed rituals, details, fertility, fertility magic, not necessarily not canon compliant, preservation spells, spell casting, spells, stone magic, trapping a life in a stone, voldemort's daughter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 21:00:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19326016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M04/pseuds/M04
Summary: When something unexpected happens in the summer of 1970, Bellatrix finds herself in an impossible situation.This fic started with the Beatles song "Run for your Life," but it took a real turn that I didn't really expect. This is unbetad, so please let me know if I've missed anything.





	For Love

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shibboleths](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12892452) by [zeitgeistic (faire_weather)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faire_weather/pseuds/zeitgeistic). 



July 1970 

Voldemort paced back and forth across the small receiving room at Black Manor. As Bellatrix watched him pace, she couldn't help but notice that his face had started to change. His face was lengthening, and his nose seemed to be shrinking as though it was being withdrawn into his skull. He was still, she thought, incredibly good-looking. Dark hair cut close, so as not to impede his vision. Long nimble fingers which Bellatrix knew exceptionally well. He was a good head taller than her and there was something about the way he moved that made her breath catch in her throat. At 19 Bellatrix was many years his junior, yet he scarcely looked 40. His strong jawline and piercing eyes never failed to catch her attention.

She had been engaged to Rudolphus Lestrange since her first birthday, but this man spoke truth to her heart. When they were alone together, and he looked into her eyes, it felt as though she were the only woman in the world.

Now though, as her own body morphed into something unrecognizable, she felt a small twinge in the back of her mind as if something inside of her was trying to catch her attention. As he passed by in his arrogant, impatient marching he let one hand way gently upon her shoulder for a moment, when she looked up into his eyes the gaze she met was intense, dangerous. When he spoke, her whole world narrowed down to the shape of his lips, the movement of the muscles under his cheeks, the feeling of his breath (impossibly) brushing across her cheek from his position above her. 

“Bella,” he began and she nodded. Uncharacteristically, he knelt next to her chair and placed both of his hands around the small one she had sitting on her knee. “Bella, I cannot have a son.” 

She stared at him as though he were speaking troll and she couldn’t begin to comprehend his meaning. The silence stretched and her eyes stayed locked on his. He raised one eyebrow and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. Eventually, after she continued to remain mute, she felt the hand on her knee shift slightly and the sharp thumb tip pressed into the soft spot on the top of her knee, making her gasp in pain.

“Bella, do you understand?” He squeezed a little more forcefully and she whimpered, nodding. “I did…” he shook his head as though he were addressing a naughty child, not a lover. “I did tell you that, I did.”

“I know, love.” His face shot up to hers and he gave her knee a twist for good measure. She whimpered again but remembered herself enough to halt the complaint on the edge of her lips. Against her will, tears pooled in her eyes. Whether from the pain, the fear, or her current physical condition caused the unwanted wetness she would never be sure. The moment she realized her vision was starting to blur she sat up straighter and looked imperiously down at him. “Yes, my lord.”

He watched her for another moment, gave her knee a comforting-turn-patronizing pat and rose to his feet. “There’s my girl.”

Her heart swelled in her chest and she fought the urge to grin at him like a fool. She maintained her still, somber posture as he walked from the room. She let her shoulders drop, slightly, but stayed frozen until she heard the entryway door fall heavily shut behind him. She counted to 100, slowly, and then lifted herself as gracefully as she could manage. She’d schooled the tears away and she wasn’t about to lose her composure now.

But as she left the small receiving room and turned toward the stairs the thought occurred to her: If she ran to the library, who would see her?

* * *  
In the darkness of the forest, deep where the light from the sun seldom reached the forest floor, a clearing of inexplicably perfect roundness had appeared earlier that morning. Bella was nude and slowly walking around the clearing, laying perfectly uniform rocks in a perfect circle. Any further magic would upset the space and she couldn’t risk it. Each stone had been found and polished by her by hand, her own blood, sweat, and magic seeping into chunks of sarsen, bluestone, and iolite as they changed to become powerful conduits for her ritual. A raw chunk of jasper the size of her fist rested next to a fire ring made of similar stones in the middle of the clearing.

It felt like the whole space was breathing with anticipation, but perhaps it was simply the young woman’s heart thudding riotously in her chest. As she placed the last stone around the exterior she turned and stepped toward the middle of the space. Bellatrix drew herself up to her full height and, unconsciously, lay one hand against her flat stomach. Silently, she repeated the entire spell again in her head. She went over the instructions she’d burned into her memory, again and again, this had to be right the first time. Her eyes lifted to the sky, sending out a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. There was only one chance for this. There would be no do-overs.

From the basket hanging off her arm, Bella withdrew a small glass vial and raised it up to examine the liquid with the full moon shining through. 

It was time. 

She carefully placed the basket outside of the circle and took a steadying breath. When she reached the middle of the circle she straddled the dark red stone and pushed her hair back off of her shoulders. When the cork came out of the bottle it took all of her strength to not gag. Caomhnú, the elixir of preservation, smelled sickly sweet and she did not relish the next step. She carefully dipped her fingers into the liquid and withdrew them with a slick, iridescent coating. Bella began chanting in Gaelic and slowly rubbed the mixture into the flat of her stomach between and up to just slightly higher than her hips. Her skin tingled and she shivered in the warm August air. The moon shone her kind face down on the earth and seemed to be smiling beatifically for Bella alone.

When she finished the first chant and had massaged all of the viscous fluid into her skin she reached back into the jar. Her chant changed as she scooped more from the small glass jar before carefully pressing the potion into herself, as far as she could reach. The instructions were very clear: the entire canal must be completely coated for the spell to be effective. Never one to take more chances than necessary she added a second coat for good measure. While the potion had felt tingly, inside it felt warm and soothing. She found she had to focus harder to maintain her chant than she had expected. The spell had mentioned this, but it was still a surprise for a moment when it surged and part of her wanted to lay down on the forest floor and sleep. 

The chanting continued as she, impossibly, remembered the last two steps for the little jar in her hand. She steeled herself and then tipped the remaining fluid down her throat. The shiver was involuntary and had also been anticipated. The sound of the jar shattering in the middle of the fire ring rang loudly in her ears. Her eyes drifted closed and she knelt next to the stone, picking up the flint and steel she’d lain next to the rough-hewn jasper almost without thinking. She’d practiced this part but was still incredibly anxious. When she first struck the steel against the flint nothing happened and a surge of panic washed over her. 

On the second strike, a tiny spark jumped from the connection to the pile of downy phragmites fluff and began to smoke. She continued the repetitive, meditative chant and began to slowly feed small sticks and kindling into the fire. The flames sputtered and grew. When they began to lick at her hands she knew she had had a strong flame and added the last piece of wood: a piece of applewood that had been hung to dry in a nursery for a baby’s first year of life. 

Her chant ended and the sudden silence felt terrifying. Her knees ached from pressing into the forest floor where she had knelt to start her fire and she suddenly felt them more in the quiet. Her body felt aglow, and she only resisted the urge to lay her hand on her stomach again by reminding herself that it would break the seal the potion had created. It felt as though her insides and outsides were all connected on a string, as though she could reach inside of her torso as easily as a hand could reach through a waterfall. 

With both hands, she lifted the jasper stone and set it in the middle of the fire. She counted silently in her head, watching for the full five minutes as the stone, applewood, and fire merged into one another. The apple tree branch didn’t burn as much as it melted and draped itself around the central stone, making it look as though the two had begun to merge. 

Bella lifted a small jar containing two hairs and dropped them into the flame above the melting wood, then pulled two from her own hair: one from her head and one from her nether regions. She did not wince, and if she did no one was around to see. She dropped her own hair onto the mixture and began the chant again in earnest. The flames rose up around the melting wood and dark stone, turning bright orange and then red, then sinking into a blue so deep and dark it reminded her of the midnight sky. As her voice reached a fever pitch she stood and placed her feet on either side of the fire ring so she was standing over the powerful blue flame. She would recall later that she felt drunk with the force of the magic and a little voice in the back of her mind panicked for the safety of the small life inside her. 

With her feet firmly planted on either side of the fire, bare skin pressed against the inexplicable cool of the fertility stones making up the circle, she began to lower herself into the flames. The movement reminded her of the grand plié she’d learned when she thought she might be a ballerina. That thought seemed so far away now.

The flames licked at her and she could feel them against her, but there was no pain. The glimmering, flowing shape felt almost like a caress as she moved herself into an unnatural position over the stone. She held her breath for a moment and began the final chant. 

The feeling was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, though it was closest to when Tom performed Legilimency on her. It felt as though something not quite her own was moving through her body, starting at her opening. The flames reached inside of her and for a moment she thought she might lose consciousness. There was a pulling sensation, twice, and then a firm jerk as something corporeal that should not be corporeal was wrenched from her body. She chanted through the pain until the fire beneath her blinked away, logs and all. 

Exhausted, she maintained consciousness long enough to ensure that the chunk of jasper glowed fiercely with life. She lowered herself onto the ground next to the fire ring and immediately fell asleep.

* * *  
Bella agreed to sit with Lucius and Cissy for their luncheon date. They had been betrothed as long as she and Rudolphus, but the feeling was so different. Lucius doted on her sister, quick to give her anything she might want. It made her heart hurt to watch Cissy falling so completely for the exact person she was supposed to.

Why couldn’t she do that?

Still, she knew that she had something no one else ever would: She had her lord’s child. And when it was time for the next heir to take their rightful place, Bellatrix and her small, protected life would be prepared. The stone hung from her neck, transfigured to resemble a flat piece of perfect polished obsidian wrapped in a delicate silver frame. She could feel the child’s heartbeat against her own and, though she was scared she knew she wasn’t alone.


End file.
